The Moon or Lady Gaga?

Today was one of those gorgeous Spring days in Vermont – the sun shone brightly, puffy cotton balls floated in the blue sky, fields were awash in shades of green and dotted with yellow.

And there I was, in my minivan, totally oblivious to the beauty around me wrapped as I was in angst. I was considering the meaning of my life and was wrestling with the question: If someone offers you the moon, shouldn’t you take it?

For someone recently did just that…and I turned it down.

It’s a flaw of mine to skew glass half-empty. Instead of marveling over the magnificence of the moon, I worried about how it would fit into my life, what toxic substances it might introduce into my atmosphere, whether I was ready to shoulder the burden of its care and maintenance.

Yes, I am purposefully being cagey and no, I won’t go into the specifics. While it’s true, in creating this blog, I voluntarily put details of my life in a public domain; it’s untrue that I eschew privacy entirely. Maybe the best part of having a blog is that as its creator, one gets to pick and choose which anecdotes to include and which to stuff in the deeper recesses of the family’s toy box. But I digress. Back to the minivan.

At the stop light, I continued the fruitless pursuit of deciding whether to regret a decision I had already made. I was in a sightless, soundless, self-absorbed zone. Although the passenger side window was open to let a certain red dog stick his nose out, I was barely aware of it until another car pulled alongside me. Their music, without any sound barriers, was at blasting volume. Paco and I looked over.

This is what we saw: Two big guys (imagine Jake and Elwood without the hats and jackets), in an electric blue Dodge Charger, staring straight ahead, singing and punching their fists in time to the beat.